


Still Wild / Trust Me

by southsideglitter



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Teen Homelessness, Trauma, southside serpents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-10-04 10:04:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17302610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/southsideglitter/pseuds/southsideglitter
Summary: Your sister's working away, leaving you home alone in Sunnyside Trailer Park. Sweet Pea needs a place to stay.AKA: just another slow burn unlikely-roommates fic featuring two troubled teens who don't know how to ask for help or understand their own stupid feelings. Even when they end up sharing a bed most nights.





	Still Wild / Trust Me

**Author's Note:**

> This is so so different to my other stuff, so if you're expecting hardcore filth - this is not the one, sorry! I got the urge to write something slower and sweeter, and this is what came out. Please be kind!

You get to school late and disheveled, finding the other Serpents in the student lounge.

“Woah, sex hair alert,” Fangs shrieks, leaning over to ruffle your messy locks as you collapse onto the sofa beside him.

You slap his hands away, grinning despite yourself. “It’s nothing like that, asshole. I just got up late. Haven’t been sleeping well since my sister left.”

“You get lonely over there at night, you give me a call,” Fangs leers, yelping when you smack his arm in response.

“You’re not the only one tired today, babe,” Toni says, changing the subject from Fangs’ fake-sleazeball routine. You find it more endearing than her because you’ve not heard it _quite_ as many times; you only transferred to Riverdale earlier this year. Easy to forget it’s not been that long, with how soon you became one of the gang.

You stifle a yawn and turn to Toni. “TT, girl, I’m happy for you and Cheryl but come on. Enough with the dirty details already.”

“Not me,” she says, glaring at Fangs before he can comment. “I’m talking about Sweets.” Toni nudges a crumpled pile of leather, denim and flannel on an armchair nearby. “He hasn’t been getting his beauty sleep either.”

Sweet Pea groans, and the shape on the armchair shifts as he stretches. “Screw you, Topaz,” he mumbles, one bleary eye opening for a moment before he curls up again.

Now that his face isn’t hidden, you can see the dark circles, the tired slope to his shoulders, the million little tell-tale signs that all add up to exhaustion. You recognise them all because you’re feeling them too. Game recognise game.

You glance at him again, and then make yourself look at the others, asking what’s going on without words.

 Sometimes, when it comes to Sweet Pea, you have to tell yourself not to stare. You don’t let yourself look too much, or too long. You’re tight with all the Serpents, but Sweets has always given you a strange sensation; like you’re on the edge of a tall building and could fall or get pushed over any second. You’re friends, but you’ve never spent much time on your own together. _Maybe that’s all it is_ , you tell yourself. Not nerves, not a crush. Just unfamiliarity. A rollercoaster feeling of not knowing what’s next.

 The bell goes and you split towards your separate classes. Toni and Sweet Pea have science together; you hear her threatening him with various sorts of violence to get him awake and moving. He’s mumbling, _fine, okay, I’m up, happy mom? Don’t get your crazy wife to get her bow and arrow, I’m coming._

You loiter in the doorway, wondering if you should stay and help but Toni’s escorted enough drunks out of the Whyte Wyrm in her time; she knows how to maneuver Serpent dudes three times her size with skilled dexterity.

She catches your eye. _Tell you later_ , she mouths, and then Fangs is ruffling your hair again, dragging you down the hall and saying how _you suit the sex-tousled look, babe, but it needs more authenticity_  and maybe he can help with that. Maybe he’s doing it on purpose, running interference, keeping you distracted. Maybe Sweets doesn’t want anyone to know what’s going on. Pea and Fangs have this weird telepathy between them, almost like their own language. So you give up for now, let him lead you to English, slurping from your thermos of extra-strong coffee on the way.

You get the story at lunchtime.

Sweet Pea hasn’t got anywhere to stay. He’d been crashing with his brother in Seaside, but he’s moving in with his girlfriend to save on rent and there’s no room for Pea at hers. His tent got wrecked in the last raid and it’s getting too cold for that anyway.

Apparently there’s a bunker where people used to go to bone and play board games ( _not at the same time_ , Fangs clarifies with a cackle, _too many candles for that_ ) and he says he’ll go there if he gets desperate but that sounds way too grim. Sweets rubs his eyes, steals a fistful of fries from Jughead’s lunch tray and juts out his chin as he chews. Like he’s daring you all to be sympathetic; _just try it and see what happens_.

You know bravado when you see it.

Before you know what you’re doing, you’re rummaging in your bag.

“Crash with me,” you say, impulsive but certain: this is better than him being in some grim fuck bunker or the cupboard at school where Jug says he used to sleep and that lore says some dude definitely died in.

Sweet Pea’s dark eyes meet yours. An electrical storm starts up in your head.

You swallow and continue. “My sister’s gone away with work. She won’t be back for a few months, maybe more.”

“I can’t do that.”

“You’d be doing me a favour, idiot. I hate being there on my own.” Your scrabbling fingers close around metal in the bottom of your bag. “Here’s my spare key.”

You pass it to him over the table. Cheryl, Toni and Fangs are very deliberately talking about anything else. Jug’s scavenging leftovers, ignoring you all.

“You mean it?” Sweet Pea asks, and though his words come out steady there’s a little ripple underneath them that tells you he’s tempted.

You grin, nodding. “No Serpent stands alone, right?”

“Well, if you really hate being by yourself, I suppose I’d better,” he smirks, and drops the key into the pocket of his shirt.

“You’re welcome, asshole,” you mutter, low enough for just him to hear.

He glances to check none of the others are looking. _Thank you_ , he mouths back. 

*******

 By the end of the day the static in your head’s simmered down to a soft fizz, and when Pea’s nowhere to be seen after school you make your own way home. Maybe he’s changed his mind after all.

By ten, you’re in your trailer in a tank top and sweatpants, yawning as you curl on an armchair under a blanket with an old film on, pretending you’re not waiting. The knock, when it comes, even though he’s got a key, is almost an apology. Like he thought he might have left it too late.

“Sorry,” he says, as you open the door. He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly as you stand back to let him in. “Had to see my brother before I went. Forgot he was on the late shift.”

“It’s fine. I was still up.”

He looks around, letting his rucksack slide from his shoulder. By daylight, the trailer is bright and bohemian. Or, as much as is possible to be while still being a rusted tin can. But you and your sis have made it your own; fake-fur throws, cushions, plants and odd little thrift-store ornaments.  

By night, it’s usually candles and battery fairylights to keep the electric costs down, but the shadows make it look softer. It’s small, but it’s cosy, and safe. Safe enough that you told your sister you’d be fine on your own, although she’d still been unsure about leaving.

“Cool place,” Pea grins, and you feel your uncertainty start to dissolve. It’s just Sweets, who you’ve hung out with a million times; Sweets with his sketchbooks full of crazy, beautiful drawings, done in class when he should have been studying. Sweets, with his ability to destroy a whole tray of doughnuts with Fangs in five minutes flat, less if they didn’t bicker about who got more of which flavour. His tattooed thumb smoothing back Toni’s hair whenever she got upset, saying _it’ll be okay, Tiny, I promise_. His ability to make Jughead and Cheryl furious with a look or a word (especially if that word was ‘melodramatic’), but the loyalty to go to war for them at any instant if they needed.

He glances at your blanket-nest on the armchair. “Will I be in the way if I take the couch?”

You pull a face. “Your tall ass on that tiny thing? No way.”

He shrugs himself out of his Serpent jacket and casts an appraising glance at the rug. “You’re probably right. I’ll be cool on the floor.”

You cross your arms, channel Toni when she’s bossing the other Serpents about. Small but powerful. “Sweets, it’s just us now. I’m sure you’re cool everywhere, but you don’t need to take the floor. You can sleep in my bed.”

He raises an eyebrow, and your eyes meet just a beat too long, like you’re both waiting to see who’ll break first.

“I’ll take my sister’s,” you clarify, as he starts to smirk. “She’d kill me if I let a teenage boy take over her bedroom.”

He pulls a pretend-hurt face. “You saying I wouldn’t be her type?”

“I’m saying she’s extremely possessive about her bed. But being her flesh and blood, I’ll probably get away with it, just. So I’m in hers and you’re in mine. Come here, I’ll show you.”

You lead him in, try not to watch his reaction as he sees your posters, photos, your row of shoes; biker boots, glitter glam-rock heels, pink neon rollerskates. You already moved your make-up and enough clothes for the next few days into your sister’s room, then changed the sheets. Charcoal grey was the most masculine you could find.

“I cleared out the drawers,” you say, nodding to the little chest by the bed. “In case you wanna put your things in there.”

You don’t know how much space he had at his brother’s. But judging by the way he’s looking at your little world as if it’s the best thing he’s ever seen, it’s not as much as this.

“Thank you,” he says, and that ripple’s back in his voice.

“I’ll leave you to it,” you say. “I’m going to bed in a minute, but give me a shout if you need anything.”

As you head towards the door, he clears his throat and calls your name.

You look back over your shoulder.

“School tomorrow,” he says, looking shyer than you’ve ever seen him. “You wanna ride in with me? I borrowed a helmet for you, so we can go in together if you want.”

“Sounds good, Sweets. Night.”

He gives you the big open smile that only the Serpents get to see. “Night.”

 You thought you’d be awake all night; conscious of every movement, every shift, every tiny sound as he settles in. But it’s actually comforting, knowing that he’s there as you slip between the covers in the room next door and let tiredness take over.

You sleep better than you have in weeks.

 The next morning, he’s fully-clothed when he comes out of your room, and so are you; cross-legged on your kitchen counter, munching granola, looking over homework due in that day. Pretending like you do this all the time.

“Sleep okay?” you ask, and he stretches and gives the biggest grin you’ve seen from him in ages.

“So good,” he says. “And that shower is sick. So much cleaner than my brother’s.”

You snicker. “Thanks.”

You’ve overheard him saying to Fangs before how at his brother’s the heating always breaks down when it’s cold, how he sometimes sleeps in all three of his hoodies and still wakes up aching from shivering. He doesn’t say that and neither do you, but it makes you feel warm in a way that’s nothing to do with your (thankfully functional) heating to see how well-rested he looks.

He leans over you to get to the cafetiere, tops your mug up without asking before pouring some for himself. Such a gentleman, on the sly. And did he always smell this good, or are you just closer than you’ve been before?

When you’re ready to go, he passes you the spare helmet.

“You ever ride before?”

“Couple of times,” you tell him. “Not for a while.”

He nods, eyes unreadable. “So you know you’re gonna have to hang on to me? Tight. For safety, you know.”

“Sounds terrible,” you say, sarcastically, and his lips quirk up, like when he’s playing Fangs at poker and Fogarty’s terrible bluffing is more fun than the cards. “But I’m sure I’ll live.”

He grins and revs the engine. With your arms around him, you think you can feel him laughing as he knocks the kickstand loose and roars the bike towards school.

 

He drives slower than he would alone. But you hold tight anyway.

  *******

 Over the next week or so, you get into an almost-routine. Mornings, you ride in together. You thought he’d be impossible to drag out of bed but all those nights on people’s sofas or in his tent must have curbed the teenage boy lie-in urge, because most days he’s up before you, eating toast and fussing with his hair in the mirror, making sure it’s combed back just right. Then, when you’re ready, you set off for school, holding onto him as the engine thunders underneath you, and you telling yourself it’s just the speed and the adrenaline that has your pulse hammering by the time you arrive.

 You know there must be rumours about you. It’s common knowledge that the River Vixens keep a close eye on any apparent hook-ups; even though things between you and Pea are totally innocent, you know people must be talking.

Even the other Serpents can’t resist teasing.

“How did this motherfucker get such a sweet deal?” Fangs snarks one lunchtime, when you’re all together. “Shacked up with you, living that domestic dream.”

“Get fucked,” Sweet Pea retorts, lazily. “We’re not shacked up, I’m just staying for a few days.”

“It’s a mutually convenient arrangement,” you tell Fogarty.

“And it’s not like she’s cooking and cleaning for me,” Sweets adds.

Fangs looks sympathetic. “Bad luck, dude.”

Pea cuffs him round the head. “Show some respect. I don’t expect women to do my chores.”

“Good job, really,” you put in. “Because I’m definitely no domestic goddess.”

“You’re not bad,” Sweets mumbles, then leans to smack Fangs again when he says you’d look good in an apron and heels.

Topaz laughs from where she’s sitting on Cheryl’s lap. Fangs rubs his head, pouting. Sweet Pea catches your eye and winks. Your pulse starts hammering again.

 *

 Most nights, you walk back or grab a ride with TT and Blossom, because Sweet Pea almost always has Serpent business (which is sometimes work at the Wyrm, sometimes other more mysterious and probably sinister assignments, and often detention with Fangs). Usually, you’re in bed by the time he gets back, but not always asleep. You hear him sometimes, trying to be quiet as he moves around the trailer, sometimes muttering into his phone or cursing at his homework. One night, you fall asleep on the sofa and wake up with a blanket over you and Sweet Pea cross-legged on the floor, watching some old horror movie with the sound down low.

“Want me to turn it off?” he asks, when he sees you stirring.

“Nah.” You stretch. “I love this one.”

He grins and turns back to the screen, leaning back against the sofa, closer to you than before.

You fall asleep again. When the end credits roll he nudges you awake.

“Don’t stay here overnight, babe. I’ve slept on enough sofas to know you’ll be sorry by morning.” He cricks his neck like his muscles remember. You give him a sleepy smile and head towards bed.

As you get under the covers, you realise he’s never called you that before.

 

Then there’s a night where there’s a storm howling outside and you’re up late finishing up an essay and half-wondering whether Sweets is staying out somewhere because he’s normally back by now. Then there’s the rattle of his key in the door. You glance up and even in the low light the sight of him is enough to make your stomach clench. Split lip, still bubbling blood. Black eye, swollen almost shut. He sways in the doorway and you scramble over to him, guide him to the sofa. He slumps onto it and lets out a long hiss of pain through his teeth.

“Pea,” you say, and he looks at you like he’s sorry. You hadn’t meant it as a recrimination.

You cross to the kitchen, pass him a bottle of beer and some ice wrapped in a kitchen towel. He groans with relief as he holds the ice to his face.

You let him have that for a moment, and then ask where else. He grimaces as he pulls up his shirt to show you.

You get the first aid kit.

The next day he’s waiting when you get out of school, detours to Pop’s on the way home, insists on getting you an ice-cream sundae and refuses to let you pay. Maybe it’s a thank-you, or an apology, or maybe he just wants to be seen, wants word to get back to whoever fucked up his face that he’s still living his life, stubborn and unafraid. But you sit in a booth at the back, on your own, so you don’t think it’s that.

*

Then there’s another night. It must be a couple of weeks after that, because by the time it happens, his bruises are almost gone. It hasn’t happened for a while, but now you’re here again, in bed, somewhere between asleep and awake, terrror rippling through every cell. It’s like there’s blackness wrapped round you, pinning you down. It comes in soft, like a slow poisoning. But then it builds, and it only takes moments before you’re trapped. The black tightens around you until you can’t breathe. And you’re struggling against it with everything you’ve got, lungs burning and sobs clawing your throat as you beg and plead for it to stop.

 Then Sweet Pea crashes through the bedroom door in his boxers, switchblade in his hand.

“Get the fuck away from her right now or--”

“Pea, what the fuck?” You’re fighting your way awake, disorientated and half-asleep still as he scrambles over to your side, scans your face like he’s checking for injuries.

“There’s no one here?” His voice is rough, and even in the semi-dark there’s an animal ferocity in his eyes.

You can’t understand what he’s asking, what’s happening, if this is even real.

“Here?” you ask, thickly, confused. “Who’d be here?”

“Babe, you were screaming the place down. I thought someone had broken in and attacked you but--”

His eyes are still searching the corners of the room, but once he’s satisfied there’s no intruder, he focuses back on you, tangled in your sheets, eyes wet with tears and wide with fear.

His voice softens. “-- that wasn’t what was going on at all, was it?”

You give a big shuddering sigh and shift so there’s room for him by your side, if he wants.

“Night terrors,” you say, sheepishly. The adrenaline’s wearing off now, and you can feel that weird post-nightmare creep of exhaustion and sadness coming. Still, you’d better explain.

“I should have said, Sweets, I’m sorry. They’re not usually this bad. Haven’t had one like this in ages.” You trail away, smooth the twisted sheets, make yourself look up even though tears are blurring the corners of your vision. “I was hoping I might finally have shaken them for good.”

“Can I?” he says, motioning to the space you’ve made for him in bed.

You pull back the covers and he slides in beside you, pulling you to him without hesitation, his tattooed thumb rubbing soothing circles on your shoulder.

It’s weird how not-weird it feels. Having him hold you is comfort and safety and something like home. Even with his warm bare skin pressed against yours.

He waits until your breathing settles and then asks if you wanna talk about it.

“Another time,” you say, pushing the confusing snarl of dark images away. Having him here is keeping them at bay, you don’t wanna summon them back. “Maybe when it’s not night.”

He makes a soothing chuckling sound. “Okay.”

“There is something we need to talk about, though, Pea.”

“What’s on your mind, girl?”

You shift in his arms to look him in the face. “Don’t think we’re not gonna discuss how you came bursting in here to rescue me. With a knife. In your underpants.”

He gives a lazy slow unashamed grin. “It looked cool, right? If there was actually a burglar in here I would have kicked his ass.” His face get dreamy picturing it as he shifts, gets comfier, pulls you in closer. “That would been so damn heroic.”

Your eyes meet and you both burst out cackling, and in amongst the laughter you feel something shift. Like you’ve known this would happen eventually and didn’t know what would happen when it did. And now, without even trying, he’s shown you he’s someone you can trust.

“I’ll go,” he says, when you’ve calmed down again. “Let you get back to sleep. Unless…?”

“Stay,” you tell him. “Please. For a bit longer, at least. It won’t happen again, I’ve never had them more than once a night. But I just don’t wanna be on my own yet.”

Sweets doesn’t even hesitate. He just shuffles down and gets cosy, letting you lie on his chest like he knows the slow steady rhythm of his breathing will keep the dark tangles at bay.

“It’s okay, girl,” he says, mouth moving against your hair. “I’m not going anywhere.”

*******

Your sister calls to say she’s had her contract extended, so she’ll be away longer than she thought. When you tell Sweet Pea that the room’s his for at least the next few months, he smiles so wide you see the cherubic boy he must have been once, a long time ago, when things were innocent and easier, before everything he’s been through. Slowly, like he can’t believe his luck, he starts to make himself at home. Hair gel in the bathroom. School books on the kitchen counter. Demon-strength coffee in the cupboard. The nightmares don’t come often, but when they do, he’s there. No knife, no ferocity, no fear. Just him sliding in beside you, holding you until you stop shaking, murmuring reassurances until you settle back to sleep.

“Is this weird?” you ask him one morning, when your phone alarm goes off and you wake up with him curled beside you, one arm draped over your waist.

“What’s weird?” He groans at the daylight, pushing his hair out of his eyes as you grapple for the snooze button.

“This. You and me. Sleeping together.”

Sweet Pea gives a bleary smirk. “Nothing weird about wanting to sleep with me, babe.”

“Dickhead,” you say, making to get up, but he only chuckles and lies back down, letting his arm fall back to where it was, keeping you in place.

“Stop worrying,” he mumbles into the pillow, already half-asleep again. “We’re good.”

 

The weird thing is, he’s right. Somewhere in the last few weeks, you’ve developed this connection. You understand him better now. He’s got this self-assuredness that puts you at ease. It comes off to others as cocky. Northsiders like Andrews or Mantle, they read it wrong (or right, depending on Sweet Pea’s mood), take it as aggression or ego. And it’s sexy too, that confidence. You’ve seen the way Northsiders and Southsiders of all genders swoon when he swaggers down the corridors. But now you’ve spent so much time with him with just the two of you, you’ve seen that really it’s just certainty. Sure, he plays it up when he wants to. But really, the thing about Sweet Pea is that he knows: who he is and who he cares about. And now you’re one of them, apparently, and for him that’s enough. Enough to give you what you need and not stress about it.

 

If the other teen Serpents realise how much closer you’ve gotten, they’re not fazed. They keep teasing, though, because that’s what you all do. You’ve got your own language of insults and in-jokes and shows of affection, and living with Pea makes you feel that much more fluent in it, more relaxed than you were before.

“How does it work with you two, then?” Fangs cracks one day, in the student lounge. “Like, what about when you hook up with people? You got an arrangement so you don’t go a-knocking if the trailer’s rocking?

You and Sweet Pea glance at each other. You bite your lip to keep from laughing at how ridiculous this question is, but it’s not like Fangs is asking something you haven’t thought about. Sweet Pea’s never brought anyone back. You’ve never talked about it, but you know he never would. Despite his mile-wide rebellious streak, he’s far too thoughtful for that. You assume he has his trysts elsewhere.

Topaz saves either of you from having to answer by chiming in with her views. “Please,” she scoffs. “Like either of these two are getting any. Not when word from here to Seaside is that they’re with each other.”

“I’m not complaining,” Fangs snorts. “The _chicas_ assume you’re off the market, that works for me. Lots of heartbroken ladies for me to console these days.”

Must be why he doesn’t joke-flirt with your nearly as much anymore. You haven’t missed it, but now you think about it, Fogarty’s definitely keeping more of a distance than he used to.

“Poor Pea,” you commiserate, stifling your laughter. “Your great ladykiller reputation, ruined.”  
Pea gives his don’t-give-a-fuck grin and leans back, nudging his shoulder against yours. You always seem to end up sitting together lately. “I’ve had people say far worse. They wanna assume shit, let ‘em.”

TT whistles. “Never thought I’d see the day someone tamed you, Sweets.”

He cricks his neck and leers. “Trust me, I’m still wild.”

You dissolve into laughter. Sweet Pea grins again. The conversation moves on.

 

But they must still be curious, the others. Whenever you’re alone with Toni and Cheryl, they always wanna know.

“It’s going good with you two, then?”

“There’s nothing going on, Topaz.”

“You’re good for him, you know. He doesn’t get in as nearly as many fights as he used to. Doesn’t mouth off as much in classes. He’s more relaxed. Even does his homework sometimes.”

“Yeah, ‘cos he’s not as exhausted and angry all the time. You know, from being homeless and broke and involved in so much dangerous shit.”

You know what she’s saying, and you know she gets it, but you feel like you have to defend him.

She holds up her hands up. “That’s what I mean, girl. You’ve given him a chance to be something other than all that, and it’s brilliant. I’ve heard him talking to Fogarty about how caring you are, how you give him his space and don’t ask anything of him. He’s never had that before, that kinda acceptance. I mean, the Serpents are a family, but it comes at a cost. You get the protection, but you gotta do your part for the gang. Run errands, do bad shit ‘cos you got no choice other than going solo, and that’s no choice at all. You give him a safe place to just be himself. You gotta know he loves you for that.”

Love. That word’s a loaded weapon, too dangerous to go near. Instead you flash to the nights in your bed, talking and laughing in your pyjamas, letting the real stuff slip out, sometimes, when you’re too tired to self-censor and tangled up in each other, on the edge of sleep.

“He does his part with me too,” you tell her, thinking of how he protects you, accepts you, lets you take whatever time you need. Toni looks fierce; she’s taking it like you’re arguing. And no-one wins an argument with Topaz, not even Red. And she’s protective of you both, you know that much, and clever too, so probably she can see it in a way that you can’t. But the situation with Pea, it’s precious. You don’t wanna share it, or examine it too close, in case it damages it somehow. You wanna keep things how they are. So Blossom distracts Toni into changing the subject, and it doesn’t get mentioned again for a while after that.

  *******

Before long, school’s almost out for the holidays. To celebrate, Cheryl and Toni are hosting an end-of-term bash at Thistlehouse. It’s their first Christmas together, so obviously Blossom’s going all out. Red baubles and candy canes everywhere, plus glittering pink glass ornaments matching the streaks in Toni’s hair.

 Last year’s decorations are being discarded; Blossom says her mom bought them with the proceeds from illicit trysts, so she doesn’t want them in her house. You save them from the trash and ask if you can have them instead.

 That’s how you and Sweet Pea end up spending a night untangling tinsel and fairylights, music on, making your tiny trailer feel something close to festive. Your sister got a Christmas bonus for that she’s split with you, so you’re feeling rich: you’ve got mugs of boozy hot chocolate and the heating on high.

“You ever do this before?” you ask Sweets, passing over another box. He’s colour-separating the baubles, keeping any green and silver ones to one side, like maybe he’s gonna do some sort of Serpents-themed display. He bites his lip the way he does when he’s thinking. The Serpent tattoo on his neck slithers when his jaw moves.

“When I was really little, I think. My brother sometimes talks about us having a tree once. He must have been just old enough to remember.”

You nod. “We could never afford it. Kinda fun though.”

He plugs in the lights and his eyes light up too. But when he turns back to you he looks serious.

“When do you need me to get out by?”

You don’t get it. “What?”

He swallows, rubs the back of his neck. Glitter from the fake snow sticks to his skin. “Well, Christmas is coming, right? Won’t your sister be coming back?”

“We haven’t made plans yet,” you tell him. You’ve barely spoken to her lately. “But I hope so. For a few days, at least.”

“Cool. So you’ll let me know when you need me to leave?”

“Leave? But… where will you go?”

“Not sure yet,” he says, slapping on his heartbreaker smile. “Don’t worry, I’ll find somewhere.”

You’re not buying it. “No way,” you tell him, arms folded. “You don’t need to do that with me.”

He laughs at your scowling face.“What?”

“This pretending you don’t need anyone or anything. I get it, Pea. You’re tough. You’re independent. But you don’t need to be such a lone wolf. Just knock it off with this strong silent thing, and stay here.”

“But--”

“My sister might want her room back. _Maybe._  If she even ends up getting enough time off to make the trip back worth it. But even if she does. Can’t you just bunk with me for however long she’s here?”

By now, your nightmares have almost stopped. But at some point, you got into a routine. If he hears you moving about, like if you can’t sleep, or don’t want to, he’ll knock gently on the wall. If you want company, you knock back. Soon after, he’ll nudge your door open and find something to distract you. Discount snacks from the shop where his brother works. Gossip he’s heard about Mantle and Lodge, because Fangs and Pea know everything about everyone, no matter how much they pretend not to care. Some question about homework that you know he isn’t doing in the dead of night, even if he tells you you’re a good influence. A movie recommendation from Jughead, that Pea will roll his eyes at and say is probably pretentious, but he needs to watch it to win his argument with Jug, and will you watch it with him so he doesn’t fall asleep? Most nights now, you end up under the covers, watching movies on your laptop together until one of you dozes off on the other’s shoulder and whoever’s last awake has to shift the computer to the floor and turn the lamp off without waking the other.

Sweet Pea meets your gaze, and you can see him biting back a smirk at the fierce face you’re wearing.

“Won’t it be weird?”

“To sleep in my own bed for the first time in months? No weirder than anything else around here. I’m sure we can handle it.”

“Won’t your sister assume we’re hooking up?”

“Probably. But who cares?”

You see something in him soften. “You’re really not bothered?”

“Everyone else already thinks we’re a couple. What’s one more? Besides, it’s hardly an offensive thing for people to think about me, is it? You’re like the hottest Serpent there is, and -- oh, fuck off!” you finish, exasperated, as that yeah-I-know-I’m-hot smirk starts creeping onto his face.

He holds his hands up in apology, fighting back a laugh, and motions for you to continue.

“I mean it, Sweets. I’m not having you spending Christmas on someone’s floor out of some stupid stubborn macho pride. Not when you can stay here, with me.”

You look at him. He looks at you.

You don’t know who leans in first.

Only that, a second later, your lips are locked together, and Sweet Pea’s hands are on your waist, fingers cool but electric on the skin between your t-shirt and jeans.Yours are knotted around his neck, pulling him closer, closer, closer. His lips are softer than you ever expected, until they get more urgent.

 

By the time you pull apart, you’re both covered in glitter from the Christmas ornaments that have ended up all over the floor.

 *

The next night, you go to Cheryl and Toni’s Christmas party together. When the others find you, tangled in each other under the mistletoe in the hall, their whoops and hollers echo all through Thistlehouse, along with the slap of Fangs and Toni high-fiving, saying _finally_ and _about time_ and _took them long enough_.

 

Despite all the disruption, Sweet Pea keeps kissing you like he never wants to stop.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments are life and might even keep me writing. I abandoned Tumblr so you're all I got now. No pressure or anything. ♥


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